


Special

by Captn_Fedora



Series: Spidey-Senses [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Autistic Peter Parker, Coming Out, Gen, One Shot Collection, Pre-Spider Bite Peter Parker, Self-Indulgent, Trans Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26438587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captn_Fedora/pseuds/Captn_Fedora
Summary: And now they would call him special again. Like that was something good. Special . His life wasn’t special, it was awful. It sucked and the more Peter glared into the mirror, the suckier it seemed to get.
Series: Spidey-Senses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921855
Comments: 1
Kudos: 109





	Special

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first finished fic tbh and it's incredibly self-indulgent. (I'm not actually autistic I just kinda (really) think i am. I'm pretty sure I have adhd for sure but I wouldn't be surprised if I was autistic too. but anyway) just like let me know if I wrote something wrong i've never like published anything where i tried to write a character as autistic before and i'd hate ohave done something wrong and not fix it or anything.

“You must like being bullied.” Peter taunted his reflection in the bathroom mirror, glass still steamy from the too-hot, too-long shower.

He scrunched his face at the image of himself. He just had to be difficult, didn’t he? He couldn’t just be normal, be like everyone else. He just had to be different, _special._ He shuddered. Peter hated being ‘special’.

They called him _special_ when his parents had died. _Special_ when he had to move in with his aunt May and uncle Ben. _Special_ when he ‘acted up’ in class. _Special_ when they diagnosed him with autism. _Special_ when uncle Ben died. _Special_ when he was the highest ranking 8th grader. 

And now they would call him special again. Like that was something good. _Special_ . His life wasn’t _special,_ it was awful. It sucked and the more Peter glared into the mirror, the suckier it seemed to get. 

Peter huffed, a soft ‘fuck’ dropping from his lips as he broke the staring contest with himself. He picked up the large hoodie from the counter-top and pulled it down over his head. Inside out, just the way he liked. He’d need the comfort.

Peter could already feel the anxiety bubbling in his stomach, rising and sizzling up his throat. He tugged at the hoodie, picking at the fuzz and pulling the fabric off from his chest. He shuddered. His _chest._ He hated his chest. 

It was so _feminine_ , no it was worse. It was _female_ . Peter shuddered again, hands twitching at his sides. _He_ was female. Or at least he supposed to be. That’s what they wanted him to be, what they said he was. But they were _wrong._ He _wasn’t_ a girl. He was a **boy**. 

He just needed to tell them that.

See, Peter had known for a while that he was a boy. He had been doing research for an extra credit assignment for his sixth grade biology class when he had come across the word: transgender. He had, of course, seen the word before. In the headlines for ads at the bottom of his screen. He’d heard it fleetingly during the talk shows aunt May watched. But he never knew what it meant.

But, truthfully, he had been desperate for a reason to stop doing the work (it wasn’t nearly as exciting as the last extra credit assignment had been). So Peter opened a new tab and googled it.

**Transgender:** **_adjective_ **

  * **denoting or relating to a person whose sense of personal identity and gender does not correspond with their birth sex.**



Peter had frowned at that. He had never felt much like a girl, never liked to wear dresses or let his hair be down and flow-ey (not that he liked it put up, either). But did that make him not a girl? What made him a boy, if he were one? 

By the time Peter had fallen asleep that night, well morning really, he had to close fifteen open tabs and three documentaries he had downloaded and watched. The next day, he couldn’t concentrate at all in school. He was late to two of his classes because he hadn’t noticed the bell had gone off, too lost in his thoughts. He hardly even greeted aunt May at home before he darted to his bedroom and open his computer, clicking through his history to find the pages he saved the night before.

The term filled his head for months. Each day he rushed to his room only to spend hours searching anything and everything he could find having to do with being transgender. He watched every documentary he could find, read hundreds of articles written by transgender people or about them, took dozens of online quizzes, read through LGBT+ forums, and how people learned they were apart of the community.

Part of him wanted to come out right away, wanted to tell everyone to call him **he**. He scored the same "100% Trans" on every test, marked ‘yes’ on every checklist, it made so much sense. He was a _boy,_ why hadn’t he seen it before?

But Peter had never had a high sense of emotional intelligence, even years of therapy when he was younger hadn’t helped him learn to label how he felt or why. He had read of people de-transitioning, how much they regretted the huge decisions they made when they thought they were so right. So instead of coming out, Peter cut his hair. 

It was during the last month of sixth grade on a particularly hot day of June. He remembered it well. Peter hated the summer anyway, he despised hot weather. The feeling of always being too hot and too sweaty and never feeling hydrated enough. His hair had been sticking to his neck and the tank top aunt May’s friend had given him to wear was too rough on his skin. Everything was too loud and bright and he had just wanted to go back home. 

He had managed to sneak away to the bathroom and was able to yank off the shirt and splash some water on his face to cool down. But his hair was still too heavy, still pulled too tightly in the too pink hair tie. He hadn’t really thought about the aftermath when he reached for the scissors. Hadn't thought of aunt May’s reaction, or her friend’s, or the mess that it would make when the loose hairs fell against his sweaty back and onto the tile floor. 

He managed to cut it all off in only five snips, and what was left flopped unevenly over his head like a mop. He had starred in the mirror for a while, shaking his head to watch the hair settle differently over his eyes. After he scooped up the hair into the trash can he walked out, almost forgetting to put the awful shirt back on. 

Aunt May had been shocked and her friend had been upset by the misuse of her bathroom, which Peter didn’t understand because just earlier he heard her tell his aunt of the new ways she was practicing cutting and styling her hair, complaining of the cramped bathroom. But he did appreciate that it meant aunt May had taken him home early.

The next day she took him to the salon to get it cut properly. Peter was glad, it looked like he fell into a lawnmower his way. 

During the days after his drastic haircut, Peter wondered if that was all he needed. If maybe he wasn’t truly transgender, just a girl who needed a haircut. He had felt so much better afterwards, that he felt that must’ve been true.

He spent his summer at a science day-camp with his best friend Ned that year which meant waking up at six each day to be ready for the bus at seven thirty. Every day Peter walked to the bus station fifteen minutes early, and every day there was an old woman sitting on the bench there.

On the first day she saw Peter in his too large camp shirt and shorts,his red backpack strapped tight over his shoulders, Peter had been shocked when she called him a “nice young boy” but not upset. By the time camp came to an end, he found he would miss it. 

He spent all of seventh grade sure he was a boy and by eighth grade he started figuring out what he wanted to be called. He had decided that Ben would be his middle name before he really realized he was a boy, but his first name was more of a challenge. 

He scoured baby name sites, paid extra attention to the character names in his comic books, practiced writing different names, tested how they looked next to Parker. In the end, of course, he found Peter. He thought it sounded nice, Peter Benjamin Parker. He hoped uncle Ben would’ve appreciated it, been okay with it all.

He hoped aunt May would be okay with it all. 

Peter took a deep, shaky breath before shaking his head and opened the bathroom door. 

“Sweetheart?” Aunt May smiled from behind the island as he walked into the kitchen. Peter’s hands twitched at the endearment even though he knew she didn’t know how much he hated it. He smiled as he pulled a stool out to sit on, his hands unable to lay flat on the counter top. 

Aunt May was making dinner, blueberry pancakes, his favourite. 

“Dinner should be ready in just a minute, Rosie, would you mind setting the table?” Peter hummed loudly and tapped the table before standing and grabbing the plates and utensils. He sat down, maybe too harshly, in the left chair he always sat in. He didn't notice he had been twirling the fork between his fingers until aunt May called his name. No, not his name. _His_ name is Peter.

Peter scrunched his face and put his fork down, watching as his aunt took her own seat. The smell of the blueberry pancakes filled the room and Peter smiled as he took three for himself. He buttered them carefully and cut them before dousing them with syrup. 

“This is really good, aunt May.” He said after he swallowed his first bite. “Thank you, Rose, but you know you don’t have to compliment me every time I make pancakes.” She smiled. “But they’re really good.” Peter smiled through the anxiety that had started to fizz again. 

He shook his head, left hand fiddling with a torn piece of napkin at his side. “Uhm. Aunt May?” He started. He swallowed, face scrunching as he tried to find his words. Why was it so hard? “Yes, dear?” Aunt May was always so patient with him. “I uhm, I don’t want you to be upset.” 

Peter wasn’t looking at her, but he knew she was making that confusing face. The one where he couldn’t tell if she was frowning or smiling. “Why would I be upset, dear?” Peter shrugged. He didn’t know _why_ people were transphobic, he just knew it was a thing, and a thing he didn’t want directed at him. Especially not by aunt May of all people. 

“I’ve been researching it for a while, three years now. And I’m really sure about it- I wasn’t for a while, I thought I was just confused but.” He shook his head. “But I think I’m right now. I’m sure. I’m Peter. I am. Peter Benjamin, I was thinking. I think it sounds nice. I think uncle Ben would like that, don’t you? Aunt May?” 

Peter looked up, not all the way, he couldn’t meet her eyes. Especially not now. But he lifted his eyes from watching the syrup swirl on his plate and looked at her hands. They were still. He didn’t know what that meant.

“Yes, dear,” Peter jumped as she spoke. “I think he’d like that a lot.” Peter looked up and watched as she wiped her eyes behind her glasses. “I think your uncle would have thought that to be an amazing choice, Peter.” 

Peter smiled as he stood to take his plate to the sink. Aunt May had never called him special. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I really like the trans and autistic peter parker headcanons and decided to write my own. I'm writing this on a whim because I've wanted to write /something/ all day and was playing spiderman (well, watching the game. I hate the controls but anyway) and i was thinking about how much I dislike that you have to like "activate" spider senses because like, that would just be constant, wouldn't it? and then i was thinking about how Peter probably didn't even recognize anything off when he woke up after being bit, because he was so used to having heightened senses anyway. But that's not what I ended up writing so *shrug*. that means ill want to write part two more.  
> ANYWAY thanks for reading and sorry for rambling :)


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